


morning after fic

by Hope



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-04
Updated: 2005-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope/pseuds/Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>follow-on from Mary’s <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/community/jayne_simon/4792.html">clubfic</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	morning after fic

**Author's Note:**

> follow-on from Mary’s [clubfic](http://www.livejournal.com/community/jayne_simon/4792.html).

When Simon wakes up, two thoughts automatically leap, like stilletoed elephants, to the forefront of his mind . One: River must have tried to scrub his mouth out with washing detergent while he was asleep again; only this time she must have used rusty steel wool to do so, and possibly the detergent had been left in a pot of over-cooked protein overnight. Two: Jayne’s feet smell like damp sock and muddy leather. As much as Simon is convinced that there is no way the first thought could be in any way false; the empirical evidence supporting the second thought places it in a slot of higher priority immediately.

In other words, Jayne’s feet are on his face. Jayne seems to realise the same thing at the same time, or at least Jayne’s feet do; and Simon can’t help but retch a bit as toes feel out his somewhat delicate eyesockets, knead his cheekbones, then explore (somewhat boldly) his nostrils. His limbs kick a bit as he struggles to rise a bit too quickly, realising a bit too late that part of the reason his head feels like it’s been filled with lead and other sharp, pointy objects is because it’s hanging over the end of his bed. The foot end. _That explains the feet, then_, he thinks, and then anything slightly coherent is driven from his head as his skull concentrates very fiercely on punishing him for ever considering logical thought an option, squeezing more than a little too tight around his brain.

He only realises his flailing limbs have found targets of their own when his groan of agony is answered in kind from the _head_ of the bed. And then, in the process of (very carefully) turning his head to ascertain the true extent of the damage, he notices something else. Namely, River’s smirk. He’s grateful, at that moment, for the blanket that appears to be still draped over both he and Jayne at at least the waist region, as sticky as it feels. And then that small mercy pales far, far into the distance as River breaks into an open-mouthed grin, just the sight of her shinywhite teeth and clean hair and damn not-_quite_-cheerfullness enough to make Simon wish he were anywhere else right now. Say, for example, the airlock. And then he begins to remember.

“You,” River says, in a tone that Simon really hasn’t missed all that much. “Were _soooo_ drunk.”

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.livejournal.com/users/monkeycrackmary/542295.html  
> http://hopeful-fiction.livejournal.com/38900.html


End file.
